I feel this way a lot.
In fact, let’s be honest, shall we? Unless you are being paid to feed people, or wear a cape that says “Mommy Badass”, so do you.
And don’t even get me started on the statement that is the bane of my existence. The dreaded “Can I have a snack?” inevitably uttered 30 minutes after a meal has been served, while I am doing something obviously important only to me. It’s like when the kiddos are playing peacefully for hours, and as soon as the phone rings with an important call that must be answered, it’s the cue for Oldest Girl to have a meltdown, Youngest Girl to get injured, Middle Girl to begin asking random questions and the dog to suddenly be struck with diarrhea and shit in the floor. All at the same time. Sheer insanity.
Regardless, after my vanishing act night before last, I decided I needed to somehow make amends for the 45 minutes I stole, even though nobody missed me while I was gone. Classic mommy/wife guilt, which is really unnecessary, due to the fact that my attentiveness to my family’s needs normally resembles martyrdom. Whatever. Today was a good day. Great, even. Everyone was in a pleasant state of mind, there was minimal sibling war, no girly cat-fights over dolls or crayons, and nobody cried. The weather was even beautiful.
So. It was agreed. I would please everyone, and be a short-order cook, which is normally a hat I refuse to wear. My kitchen is not Mel’s Diner. Orders are not taken. You eat what I make, or you fend for yourself. Tonight, I sucked it up and made an exception.
The Youngest Girl, wanted a hot dog. The Middle Girl wanted a turkey burger with cheese. The Oldest Girl wanted steak. Got it. Wonder which one needs to marry well in order to fulfill her culinary tastes, huh? Anyway, I instructed The Man to locate the Aim n’ Flame. It was time to grill some meat. The accompaniments would be baked potatoes, along with steamed broccoli and asparagus topped with hollandaise made with real butter AND whipping cream. Everyone was getting their dinner wish
I even served it on heart-shaped plates. Yes…HEART SHAPED PLATES!
The presentation alone should have earned me a free pass from kitchen clean-up, right? At least that was my belief. Apparently, I stood alone in that assumption. Not only did I get stuck with every bit of clean-up, I had to take the trash out too.
This pretty much guarantees the next time I need to vanish, it will be out the door, just around dinner time, in search of a marvelous place called a restaurant. Alone. Where someone will cook, clean AND take out the trash.
Just for me.
If they are lucky, I’ll bring home a doggy bag of leftovers from the dinner I ordered